


the one who's gonna crash

by litsasecret



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litsasecret/pseuds/litsasecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is a guardian angel sent to look after Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one who's gonna crash

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I did originally post this at the kink meme, but I have added a net total of ~1000 words. A lot has changed and improved, so please give it another shot, even if you already read it. I didn't post my best work before, and didn't anticipate the number of people who would read it. This was a little upsetting at first, because I _knew_ it wasn't my best work, even though I was ecstatic about the response, so I decided to edit it until I was actually pleased with it.
> 
> On a lighter note, I have a [soundtrack!](http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=7e2803ecd92360ffeddfa9475e73f5e3abc4ceb29027b7a6cd75c989f2be8b26bb30feb340b6fbca448cf4dcc332cae9%E2%80%9D) The songs should have the ID3 tags to be in the right order on a single CD, but I really don't know whether that will work, so here's the list in order of appearance in the fic: Hallelujah - Kate Voegele; American Pie - Don McLean; Every Rose Has Its Thorn - Poison; Precious - Depeche Mode; Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen. The Nazareth song is not referenced in the fic, but it is where I stole the title from, so I included it for completeness' sake.

When the assignment came, Dave put on _Hallelujah_, and not even the Jeff Buckley version, or Leonard Cohen. It was some raspy girl singing, which made Tommy grimace.

_I heard there was a secret chord/that David played and it pleased the Lord_

  
"That is so inappropriate. For one, I actually like music. And so does he, if I'm not mistaken." He didn't think he was, but he didn't like to go into a job with preconceived notions. It had led bad places in the past.

Dave sent him a wounded look. "I was just celebrating, you know? Like Samson whose hair grew back and whose prayers were answered."

Tommy sent him a horrified look. "Samson _died_," he pointed out. "Horribly and publicly. The stage where he was to be sacrificed to the Philistine god collapsed on top of him." And he'd done it himself too. None of that deserved thinking on.

The music ceased. "Fine," Dave said. "Be that way."

Tommy just gave him a look. Dave meant well-- they all meant well, but Tommy knew they were all just waiting. Waiting for him to be punished for real. Something this momentous, going from bands no one had heard of to someone who was Destined to be an icon, was confusing. And a little scary.

Tommy shoved back the idea that maybe he was being set up for failure in order to focus on the here and now. He shrugged into a hoodie that was mostly clean, found a guitar case, and flicked into existence outside the studio where auditions were being held.

It went well, of course it went well. Tommy had Destiny on his side, and the orders to prove it too.

Tommy's orders told him that Adam was going to be a superstar, and that Tommy's job was to make sure Destiny had it easy with him. As always, he'd be conscience, friend, and protector. It was a tough life, but it was necessary. So much could change if a guardian angel slipped even a little bit.

Tommy was determined not to slip. Not this time.

The part Tommy didn't expect was how much he'd _like_ everyone.

It didn't hurt that the actual guardian part was super easy. Adam had his own security, plus Monte and LP who were really protective of their singer. And Tommy. He wasn't sure how he got folded into their midst so smoothly, because orders and Destiny had nothing to do with that, but he went with it. It was comfortable.

It was a cushy gig, and at first that worried Tommy, deep in the back part of his brain where he knew he'd fucked up seriously bad back in 1959. He hadn't had a job since, unless you counted garage bands and karaoke wannabes.

Either this was a way to ease him into a false sense of security, so they could quietly remove him from active duty, or it was a way of easing him back into the full swing of things.

Whichever it ultimately turned out to be, he couldn't dwell on it. He had to focus on the job, right? Even the cushiest gigs could go bad. Like Mehiel with Marlowe four centuries ago. Tommy'd been friends with Mehiel, and then that stupid bar fight, and then nothing. No one had heard from Mehiel since, and that scared a lot of them.

You know, secretly. Because they weren't supposed to get scared. They were warriors, and warriors fight and are brave and shit like that. (Or they disappear, never to be heard from again.)

Other than the occasional bout of self-doubt and concern for the future, he managed to just focus on playing his bass and being looking after Adam. Neither was a particularly difficult job, because of his experience and the help he got from everyone else, but it did keep the parts of him that want to know why he was here from overwhelming him.

Existentialism was _so_ 1920s, after all.

Of course, then Adam had to ruin it. It wasn't like it was Adam's fault, of course-- Tommy knew enough to be able to tell he'd been the one to drop the ball here. He should have seen it coming, he thought.

As soon as they got off the stage, Adam stopped in his tracks, face stricken in an 'Oh God, what did I do?' sort of way. Tommy stopped too, pressed up against his side and said, "We need to get moving. You're about to have like, a million people asking you all sorts of questions. Freak out later, right?"

Adam clung to him and replied, "Thank God you're here. I just want to run away and hide under a rock until everyone forgets my name and I can go back to sucking cock for bit parts in low-budget productions. Don't let me do that?"

Tommy opened his mouth to say something--anything--to that, starting with, "I am the worst guardian angel ever" and ending with, "Isn't that illegal?" but Adam interrupted before he could say anything.

"Oh, I didn't even think. Are you okay? Please say you're okay, I know I should have, like, planned it but--"

Tommy kissed him, quick, on the lips, before he could freak out even more.

"Interviews. Adoring public. Venomous middle America. Go," he said, shoving Adam a little to get him moving. He flicked to the corridor right outside the band's dressing room just as the first camera swung in their direction.

He'd stolen Adam's cell phone and turned it off.

Okay, breathe. He hadn't seen this coming, even though he should have. He was just rusty. He could figure this out-- shield Adam from the worst of the fallout, hold his hand through the rest.

He shook off the image that evoked in his mind. Obviously he wouldn't be _literally_ holding Adam's hand. His shoulder blades itched, but he shrugged, hard, and ignored it.

Adam was still busy talking to people by the time their car service came to take them to the hotel where they were supposed to unwind and wait to fly out to New York the next morning. Tommy left him behind reluctantly, but there wasn't any way to insist on staying without making this worse for Adam than it already was.

Monte gave him a sympathetic look, absently tugging Tommy's seatbelt to check it was fastened. Tommy had a bad habit of forgetting.

"I know you feel guilty," he said gently. "But it's not your fault. Other things went wrong, you know-- the dancer, when he fell."

Tommy shrugged a little. "I should have been paying better attention," he mumbled. And he should have. He had the means to redirect Adam's emotions into something a little tamer; he just hadn't thought it was necessary.

Clearly, he'd been mistaken.

At the hotel, instead of going upstairs with everyone else, he lingered at the entrance, waiting. Monte came over to hand him a room key and tug his hood up over his hair.

"Trust me, they'll be recognizing you already," he said with a paternal pat for Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy didn't need to worry, because he could easily deflect curious eyes, but he appreciated the gesture.

He did wonder how long it would be before he disappeared, and thought, with no small amount of sadness, that he'd miss these people.

When Adam showed up several hours later, Tommy stepped forward to greet him. "You dropped your phone," he said cheerfully. Adam pushed his thumb against the power button right away though, so Tommy snatched it back.

"Not tonight," he said.

"But my Mom--"

"Will understand if you've turned off your cellphone after you caused a media shitstorm. C'mon, everybody's upstairs."

Adam gave him a shuttered look, eyes dark and hunted looking, and Tommy hooked a finger in Adam's bracelet-wristcuff thing and dragged him to the elevator. The six cellphones that tried to take pictures of the event all had sudden power failures.

Safely in the elevator, Tommy turned to stare at Adam.

"How bad is it?" he asked solemnly. Conscience, friend, protector. He would only fail at one of those things today, he thought determinedly.

"What?" Adam asked, startled. He shook his head. "No, it's fine, I told them all that you were straight, and that it was just impulse and you didn't know about it beforehand."

Tommy gaped. Adam really was a tough gig after all. Didn't he know the first rule of survival? CYA, then worry about everyone else.

Adam misinterpreted the expression. "I'm sorry! I couldn't think of anything better to say," he said miserably.

"Not me! You! I wanted to know how bad it was for you! You're the star, I'm just a supporting role," he said determinedly.

Adam stared at him, his posture a little saggy and his expression completely incredulous.

"I don't really know why I ended up picking you out of every other auditioner there, but I'm kind of glad I did."

Tommy nodded, feeling just a little bit guilty that it hadn't really been Adam's choice. "Thanks."

There was music coming faintly from the direction of their room, but Tommy was focused too far inward to really recognize it. He was such a failure, and Adam deserved a better guardian.

It was too late now though; he couldn't help but think if he did disappear like Mehiel, Adam would make good on his threat to hide under a rock until he could go back to his old life of trading sex for jobs. Tommy didn't think anybody else would be able to figure it out soon enough to stop Adam. He was the one with the ability to sense Adam's thoughts, after all.

When Tommy unlocked the door, a burst of sound escaped. The group was singing cheerfully along with Monte's playing.

_Well, I know that you're in love with him/'cause I saw you dancing in the gym_

  
It sparked memories which really made him nauseous. He snapped, "What the hell is wrong with you, playing that song!" and fled to the bathroom, where he grabbed the toilet and heaved.

He was so fucked. He was pretty sure management was against third chances here.

Adam was never going to be allowed to perform anywhere in this country again, would become obsolete and Destiny would be really pissed. Again. And _poof_.

Adam and Monte both came into the bathroom behind him, Adam gathering his hair out of his face and Monte settling beside him with a "You okay, kid?"

Tommy's only response was to retch some more.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you didn't like American Pie," he offered. "But in my defense, I didn't realize anyone ever didn't like American Pie, so there it is."

"It's probably just a stomach bug, and the fever's making him weird," Adam offered over the back of Tommy's neck. Tommy groaned. Adam clucked his tongue and wedged his hand between Tommy and the toilet seat to press against Tommy's forehead.

"He's a little warm," Adam confirmed.

Monte sighed heavily. "Which means you'll have it next, since you stuck your tongue in your mouth pretty recently, and you're the worst sick person I know." Tommy could hear the rebuke inherent in that sentence, and it had nothing to do with Tommy being sick. Yeah, he was the worst guardian angel ever, but the crowd of supportive friends was really throwing him off his game.

Adam mumbled out a sheepish response, not bothering to defend himself.

Tommy wondered if he really was getting sick, since the anxiety-caused nausea hadn't abated yet. But that was absurd, because angels didn't get sick.

Adam started petting his hair, humming 'Fever' softly under his breath.

The bug lasted approximately 12 hours, during which time Adam, the sneaky bastard, turned his phone back on, had 73 conversations with his PR girl, his PA, the label, and the FCC, sang Tommy every CCR song he knew at least twice, and only left Tommy's side to get club soda and crackers.

By around the eighth hour, Tommy was pretty sure he was sicking up stuff he had eaten millenia ago.

And thousand year old olive oil was _nasty_ on the way up, for sure.

When the night was over, nothing else changed. Adam didn't get sick. Tommy didn't get fired. _Adam_ didn't get fired.

Okay, so the network kept cancelling on Adam, but every other network kept snatching him up as soon as another day was clear. And, sure, every interview Adam sat for (and he sat for quite a few) opened with an identical question, but hey, there were way worse consequences. Like, Adam could have been kidnapped and literally crucified on a burning cross or something.

People always did have strange ideas about what God did and didn't condone, after all.

Then New Year's was cancelled. Adam clicked off his cell phone all the way and looked like he was going to cry.

Tommy shifted position on the couch to make room for Adam, barely noticing when his character on the Wii just fell off the platform for the fifth and final time. He patted the cleared space, eyes on Adam's face, and Adam collapsed next to him with a heavy sigh.

Tommy leaned into his warmth and said, "Next year."

Adam didn't bother asking how Tommy knew. Tommy liked to think of that as trust in their relationship, not Tommy slipping up so often Adam was just used to it at this point.

He should have realized by then that Adam would ask, eventually.

It happened when they were in Mexico. Tommy'd had way too much tequila, and Adam was watching him while he paddled around in the pool. It was obvious Adam would rather be getting a happy-ending massage from a cabana boy or something, but Tommy was stubborn in his drunken stupor, and Adam wouldn't let him go down to the pool alone.

'Friends don't let friends swim drunk,' he'd said. Tommy had laughed about that for a good five minutes, helpless to explain why. He was supposed to be the protector, after all.

Tommy, unfortunately, had to sober up suddenly. He wondered at how quickly Adam's thoughts had turned from 'I can't let my idiot bass player drown in his own stupidity' to a black morass of depression.

Tommy climbed out of the pool to kneel at Adam's side, pressing his face into Adam's shoulder. "It's okay, don't worry, everything's okay, it'll all work out, right? Isn't that what you believe? You put so much good energy into the universe," he reassured softly, speaking the language of Adam's faith, because all faith is true, as long as it is truly faith.

"You put so much out, that means it's all bound to come back at some point. It's already coming back, man. We're in fucking _Mexico_," he added, laughing a little.

He hated how not cushy the gig was turning out to be. He'd never had to guard someone from themselves before. It's weird, how many facets of warding that requires. It's challenging, and as much as he hated it, he realized he wouldn't trade it for the world. He wouldn't even trade it for one night with _Ananchiel_, not even with all her talents at wing massage.

And that was one serious admission on his part.

Then Adam surprised him, pulling himself up out of the sudden depression to demand, "How do you always _know_?"

It was accusation and fear and mistrust all wrapped up in one unanswerable question, and Tommy's heart broke.

His shoulder blades itched hotly, and the wings he had flattened and shrunk into a tattoo on his back erupted to life. He didn't have to see to know they're there, dove-grey, edged in blue. Thankfully, he hadn't lost so much control that they were full sized-- but even bird-sized wings could draw suspicion.

Adam leaned back, putting a hand to his lips almost comically. "Oh _God,_" he breathed, and Tommy barked out a breath of hysterical laughter.

"I'm gonna disappear," he said aloud, reverently. "It's only a matter of time."

Adam cocked his head questioningly. Tommy flicked them up to the room, because at this point, who cared? He'd already broken the rules.

He sat next to Adam on one of the beds, and explained everything, starting with Mehiel, his friend, in 1593, and working his way forward three and half centuries.

"Oh God," Adam whispered again when Tommy confessed to what he'd let happen that fateful day, but instead of hating him like everyone else had, instead of spurning him and pushing him away, he curled his arms around Tommy and pulled him close. "Oh, baby, that must have hurt so bad."

And Tommy could tell what Adam was thinking; about how close he and Tommy were, how much it must have sucked to lose someone you were in that close a relationship with. About how much worse it must have been because Tommy obviously felt he could have stopped it from happening.

Adam kissed Tommy's hairline, and Tommy rolled over so he could cry against Adam's chest. He'd cried before, because being an angel means love, and love means pain. But he'd never been able to cry _on_ someone like this. It was easier, and he knew now why there were guardian angels. It was so humans wouldn't have to ever cry alone.

Adam started singing softly, Bret Michaels' words warm and safe and a little desolate curling through the room.

_Though it's been a while now/I can still feel so much pain/Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals/but the scar, that scar will remain_

  
Tommy kind of mimed the guitar solo, not embarrassed, because he was pretty sure everyone who had picked up a guitar since 1988 knew that solo.

Adam chuckled and hugged him closer.

"So I get a guardian angel?" he mused aloud. "Guess you weren't lying when you said the universe was giving me good energy back."

"I try not to. Lie, that is." _Except about who I am, where I come from, my life story._

Adam nodded seriously. "It's bad energy," he agreed.

"So, there's no way for this to come out polite," he said after a few more moments. "But I gotta know. Why are your wings so small?"

Tommy giggled, relieved by the change of subject. "Because it's easier to make them lay flat if they're small."

Adam made a soft 'oh' noise, then reached to touch them. Tommy shuddered at the soft caress, his whole body jumping.

That close, and with Adam touching what was basically the core of his angelicness, his Grace, he felt everything that Adam is, right down to his core. And what Adam is? Is love.

So of course Tommy couldn't help letting Adam fuck him into the mattress. Could you have resisted?

The sun woke them, sticky and sated and tangled up in cheap sheets, and Adam blinked at him. "So."

Tommy stared back. He should probably erase this night from both of their memories. That would be the correct course of action. Damage control.

But-- "I promise to never let Monte play American Pie in your hearing again," Adam vowed solemnly.

So Tommy let them remember.

On tour for months, they were happy together. Blissful even. Kissing onstage and fucking offstage to the point where everyone'd seen them in flagrante delicto at least twice. And every single time, Tommy would look up and tell the hapless voyeur that, "God is love, don't hate."

He knew that would come back to haunt him.

The night after their last tour date, when he and Adam were changing for bed in a hotel room, new orders came.

"Uhm," he said articulately, terrified of opening them.

Adam had seen the envelope appear out of thin air, so he knew. That was one consolation, at least. He had to flick off to some new gig, but at least Adam would _know_.

Fuck consolation. He wanted to stay on this assignment forever.

Adam took the envelope, opening it with the edge of a fingernail. He read the orders silently, then said, "Looks like it's back to garage bands."

Tommy forced a smile, took the papers from Adam. He glanced over them briefly. "Looks like," he said. Then he flicked away.

Sandalphon was waiting for him. Tommy hadn't even been fully aware that he was actually going to confront the Archangel in charge of music about his new assignment, so that surprised him, threw him off.

"You've come to yell at me," his boss stated calmly.

Tommy jerked his head in a quick yes.

"You know we only go where we are needed, Tommy, and you fulfilled your task admirably."

Tommy stared at him, confused.

"You correctly discerned the source of Adam's danger and removed it."

"Oh," Tommy said distinctly.

So Adam's lack of a target for his weird possessive love idiosyncrasies was the thing he'd been in danger from? That seemed-- unlikely somehow. He couldn't exactly disagree with an _Archangel,_ though. He searched for something to say that wasn't insubordinate and petulant.

"Won't me leaving screw that up?" he decided to ask. Too late though, because he'd been flicked back down to earth, where a group of college boys were holding auditions. Tommy had no choice but to unhook the guitar case that had appeared on his shoulder in transit and play.

Without much fuss, he was in a band again. It felt wrong without Adam.

A month later, he'd managed to push all his thoughts of Adam and everyone to the back of his mind.

He'd tried his best to hang out with his new bandmates, staying after practices to squish onto a ragged couch with them and make up a history to chat about with them in between mocking whatever came on the ever present tv. He'd had to abandon Tommy Joe Ratliff, because of the fame, so all of the details of a life he'd never live were new to him. He hated lying.

Adam came onscreen for a set, grinning at the screaming crowds and the cameras. Tommy's heart stopped. His shoulder blades itched and he sent a sidelong glance to the rest of his new band. One of them was grimacing, but he didn't make a move to change the channel. Tommy wasn't sure what he'd have done if J had tried.

"So," Adam said softly, and the fans quieted instantly. "As you may know, I believe in love, and the importance of love. And someone I love very much can't be here with me tonight, maybe not ever again, and it wasn't either of our choices. And I want him to know that I forgive him, as long as he forgives me, so I'm going to sing this next one for him, guys."

Tommy felt frozen to his seat as the fans started chanting his name --_Tommy! Tommy!_\--over the slow intro.

Adam laughed, eyes sparkling. "Yeah," he said, and then he started to sing.

Tommy hummed along to the familiar words, and J nudged him. "He's ruining a perfectly good song." And Adam was, a little. He'd changed the key to something higher so his voice wasn't straining, added some acoustic guitar against the synthesizer. It was awesome. Tommy shot J a quelling glare.

_Now look what they have put you through.../Things get damaged/Things get broken_

  
That's when the stage collapsed under Adam's feet.

Without thinking, Tommy flexed his wings wide and flicked next to Adam, who was still registering that something _bad_ was happening. The whole stage was tilting precariously toward the orchestra, and the roof was creaking ominously. Tommy covered them with his fully exposed wings and _prayed_.

He couldn't flick between places more than once a day.

He couldn't shore up the failing concrete with his meager power.

It was February 3rd, 1959 all over again.

He was officially the worst guardian angel ever.

After several painful minutes, where every impact made Tommy _hurt_ in the physical sense of the term (and how could that happen?), the debris stopped moving around them. They stood safe in a tiny bubble where nothing was crushing them. They had just enough space to lay down if they wanted to.

"I don't suppose you have a cellphone we can use to tell people we're alive?" Adam said conversationally, but his eyes were bright, still high from the performance and the near death experience. His fingers were curled tightly in Tommy's hoodie, and he was breathing hard.

"No," Tommy said. "But if we wait 'til sunrise I can get us out of here, easy."

Adam nodded slowly. "Are you going to be in trouble?" He jerked his head vaguely heavenward.

"Fuck that. You could have-- the whole stage and half the roof is on top of us! I couldn't just-- It would have been fault, just like last time and I can't... I know why Mehiel disappeared. I know why, now," Tommy said, barely able to keep the words for tumbling away from him, out of order incoherent.

Adam wrapped his arms around Tommy, petting his wings and his hair and kissing his temple. "Tell me, baby. Tell me why you're so scared."

"Finish your song," Tommy requested. Adam stared at him. "Please?" Tommy added, feeling shaky and worn down. He _knew_, and the knowledge would destroy him, someday.

_ Angels with silver wings/Shouldn't know suffering/I wish I could take the pain for you_

  
Tommy looked at Adam, after. "Mehiel disappeared because he _loved_. None of us get it, because... we are love, right? That's how it works. But we aren't, not really. We're love given form, and that's so _weak_. Once he realized that, once he realized that-- I can't exist without love anymore. Without the person I love."

"Well," Adam said. "I'm-- that's." They hadn't said that to each other yet. Tommy ducked his head away, embarrassed.

Adam tipped Tommy's chin back up. "It's a good thing I'm still here then, right?"

Tommy nodded, closing his eyes. "It's why they took me off assignment," he continued. "They didn't realize it was too late." He laughed a little hysterically.

Adam kissed him. "Shh," he said. "You're okay, I'm okay."

Tommy leaned against him, absently humming Cohen's 'Hallelujah'. _It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_.

Adam shook himself out of his thoughts, drawing Tommy's focus as well. "I think we have like, eight hours until the sun rises. I think you should use this time to show me every inch of your love."

Tommy snorted out a breath of laughter, glad to think of easier things. "I figured you'd be worried about everyone else."

"I figured you'd tell me if I needed to worry about them."

Tommy tilted his head. "Yeah, they're fine. Brooke got a little scuffed up, but mostly they're trying to convince the emergency people to come find you."

"See? Now kiss me, glitterbaby."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, to address some of the things I referred to-- Mehiel and Marlowe met in Elizabeth Bear's Stratford Man duology (Ink and Steel, and Hell and Earth) which is highly recommended. The whole sappy love concept isn't hers though, that's all me.
> 
> Yes, Tommy was the guardian angel for one of Buddy Holly, J. P. Richardson or Ritchie Valens. No, I don't know which.
> 
> Ananchiel was the name of an angel in Supernatural. I stole her name and her gender, but not much else.
> 
> Sandalphon is the Archangel who presides over music, and in this fic, muscians' guardian angels. He's supposedly the brother of Metatron, and therefore considered in some doctrines to have once been human. The only authority I have on this is a giant book on angels from my mother's bookcase and Wikipedia though, so don't quote me.
> 
> I think that covers it! Thank you for taking the time to read this fic, I appreciate it~.


End file.
